


A Good Night

by Amethyst Shard (AmethystShard)



Category: Secret Adventures of Jules Verne
Genre: First Time, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmethystShard/pseuds/Amethyst%20Shard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phileas returns home after an enjoyable evening of gambling and drinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elynross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elynross/gifts).



> A Yuletide gift for Elynross. Thank you for everything you do to keep Yuletide running every year. I hope you enjoy your story!

Phileas removed his hat and gloves, placing them on the small table in the foyer for Passepartout to put away later. The house was quiet, all the occupants having probably turned in hours ago. Phileas hadn't meant to stay out quite so late, but the wine had been good and so had the company (which for Phileas meant that they had been skilled players, but not as skilled as Phileas). All in all, it had been a splendidly entertaining and fruitful evening.

Phileas headed for the stairs, still feeling the last tendrils of exhilaration from winning. He was just wishing he had someone to share in his joy, when he saw a light coming from the parlor. He wondered if Passepartout was still up. More than once Phileas had been disturbed from his sleep by a crash or bang from Passepartout's late night "cleaning" sessions.

As he approached the parlor's entrance, he heard none of the usual noise that followed his servant's antics. Perhaps Passepartout had simply forgotten a light. Peering in Phileas saw not his servant, but his friend, Jules. The young man was seated on the sofa, knees tucked under, journal propped on the arm. The quiet scratching of pen against paper was the only sound. The room was dimly lit; Jules had to be straining his eyes to write. His only light was a single lamp and whatever other little light trickled in from outside through the window.

Jules' sleeves were rolled up, his suspenders hung loose at his waist. His shoes had been abandoned on the floor beneath him. His head was bent, hair falling loosely over his eyes as he gazed intently on his writing. The remnants of cold tea waited on a silver tray nearby.

"Good evening, Jules."

Startled brown eyes looked up. Jules' surprise quickly turned to relief. "Phileas," he smiled, "I didn't hear you come in."

"No, you didn't." It should probably have worried Phileas more, how vulnerable Jules could be. Instead he found himself smiling fondly. "I presume this failure in attentiveness is due to some brilliant flash of inspiration regarding a new invention or other vision of the future?"

Jules ducked his head, drawing his journal closer. "They're just scribbles, a few thoughts that strayed into my head."

Phileas walked over to the fireplace. The charred remains of the logs inside glowed red as the fire slowly died. Phileas nudged it with the iron, but it did little to reignite the flames. When Phileas looked up, he caught sight of the clock over the mantle, which reminded him of the time. He turned back to Jules. "Must have been important enough to keep you up at this late hour."

Jules stretched his arms. "I was actually working on an assignment for my professor, but my mind kept wandering..."

"Well, try not to let it wander too far lest it not find its way back."

“I'm pretty certain you told me I lost my mind awhile ago,” Jules replied wryly.

Phileas smirked. “Did I? Well then, it must be true, as I am very seldom wrong. If it is any consolation, Rebecca tells me the same, quite often, so at least you're in good company.”

Jules shook his head. "You're in high spirits. A good night?"

Phileas narrowed his eyes as he patted the winnings inside his breast pocket. "A very good night." He sauntered over to Jules, bypassing his usual chair to sit next to the writer.

Jules tilted his head as if examining Phileas as he settled in beside him. Phileas draped his arm along the back of the sofa, his hand resting just behind Jules' head. He let his fingers play with the curls of brown hair that brushed against them. Jules leaned back, shifting his weight away from the arm and toward Phileas.

"Passepartout was put out that you didn't come home in time for dinner. I had to eat two helpings just so he'd stop fretting about the wasted food."

"Good," said Phileas, "You're much too thin, you need to eat more."

Jules frowned. "I think you missed my point." Phileas simply raised a brow in response. Jules sighed. “You could, at the very least, have sent a note saying you wouldn't be coming. At least then we would know you hadn't been kidnapped by the League of Darkness."

"Aw," Phileas wasn't very used to having anyone worry over his whereabouts or well-being (apart from Rebecca). It was a new feeling. It should have been a nuisance, Phileas was a grown man, he didn't have to answer to anyone and he liked it that way. But Jules wasn't just anyone. "I'm sorry, Jules. You are right and I will endeavor to be more courteous in the future."

Jules' clearly looked skeptical, but he thanked Phileas just the same and the matter was closed.

“Tomorrow I think we will go out for dinner. You can help me spend my hard earned winnings.”

“Well, we certainly wouldn't want all that cash burning a hole in your pocket.”

Phileas politely ignored the trace of sarcasm in Jules' voice and patted his pocket again. “Oh, that reminds me, I need to buy a new suit. We'll do that tomorrow while we're out. I could have the tailor fit you for something as well.”

Jules groaned, rolling his head back. They'd had this conversation before. Jules had made it clear that he was happy with the worn patched jacket he had and Phileas was not to buy him anymore clothes. Phileas supposed it had a certain charm, in keeping with the starving artist motif, but it wasn’t quite so fitting for dining at the club.

Jules looked at Phileas sternly. “No tailor, but I will however happily let you buy me a meal and wine.”

One thing Phileas could count on was Jules' appetite. “Very well. I suppose we could go to that cafe you like, rather than the club.”

Jules frowned. “The club... I don't think I was very welcome there the last time you took me.”

Phileas hated to admit it was true. Jules wasn't very good at fitting in with the upper crust of London society. He could dress the part if he was forced to, but he never knew enough to keep his tongue still on certain topics. He'd ruffled a few feathers and since then Phileas had been reluctant to return. Not because of Jules, but because Phileas had nearly lost his temper when he'd been taken aside and it was suggested that he be more discerning in what guests he invited to the club. Phileas did not care for anyone telling him what company he should or should not keep.

Jules tugged at a loose thread on his sleeve. Phileas nudged his chin up so that their eyes met. “You are always welcome wherever I go.” Jules rewarded him with a smile. Phileas had spent years building up walls around his heart and somehow it took one small smile for it all to come crumbling down. Phileas placed his hand against the back of Jules' neck and drew him closer. Jules' lips felt sinfully soft against Phileas'. He wanted so much to taste them, but a hand on his chest pushed him back. Reluctantly, Phileas pulled away. Jules' eyes were closed and his face held a pained expression. “Phileas,” his voice was barely more than a rasp. His eyes opened, but they refused to look up. Softly he said, “You've had too much to drink.” It wasn't said accusingly, but with sad resignation.

Phileas shook his head, then cupped his friend's face. There was a mixture of hope and fear in Jules' eyes. “I think, perhaps, I've not had nearly enough.” But he gathered up every remaining drop of courage and kissed Jules like he had wanted to so many times before. Jules made a small sound, like a whimper, that sent a shock wave of arousal through Phileas' body. He tugged Jules' shirt out from his waistband and slipped a hand inside, sliding it up his side, reveling in the soft touch of smooth warm skin. Jules melted against him. He broke their kiss, his head falling onto Phileas' shoulder. His chest heaved as short gasps tickled Phileas' neck. After a moment he leaned back. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were filled with wonderment.

Phileas caressed his cheek. “The things you do to me.” Jules' eyes widened briefly then narrowed with passionate determination. He surged forward, kissing Phileas hard enough to take his breath. Hands pushed Phileas' jacket over his shoulders. Phileas discarded it quickly, then wrapped his freed arms tightly around Jules' waist. He positioned their bodies so that Jules was underneath, his shoulders and head pressed against the supple leather of the sofa's arm, his legs spread just wide enough for Phileas to settle between them.

They kissed and touched. A few buttons found themselves undone. But Phileas was in no hurry. He wanted to take his time, to learn what every touch did to Jules and then do it over and over. But Jules was more urgent as he bucked his hips up, making his need known. So Phileas slipped his hand down between them, over Jules' erection, and squeezed him through the material of his trousers, firm, but gently. The feel of it, so real and honest in its desire, sent a thrill through Phileas like he'd never felt. Jules' head tilted back as he gasped. Phileas took advantage of the exposed neck, swiping his tongue over Jules' Adam’s apple, jaw, then chin, until he found Jules' mouth again, waiting, wet and glistening, welcoming him in.

There was a crash from the back of the house. Jules and Phileas both gasped as they broke apart. Neither was in any state to react or move, so they stayed still, breaths heavy and warm against each-others' lips, and listened. There was another smaller crash and a thud. Phileas squeezed his eyes shut. “Passepartout.”

“Oh god, do you suppose he heard us?”

“Don't care. But I suppose we should take this upstairs in case he decides to check in on you.”

Jules nodded. “I think that would be a very wise idea.”

Slowly and with great reluctance, Phileas extracted himself from Jules and stood. He held out his hand and Jules took it, allowing Phileas to lead him upstairs to his bedroom. Phileas smiled. It was going to be a very good night indeed.

 

* * *


End file.
